“I am not so certain of that,” murmured Samuel. “You see things in a different light, and I believe we would all benefit from your insight.”
Mrs. Godwin glanced at him with a quizzical frown as though uncertain if it were a jest or spoken in earnest.
“Sacking our servants is not the solution,” he emphasized, and she accepted that with a nod.
“I could sell my tea and give Mr. Colby the funds,” she offered. “It is selfish of me to be spending so much on luxuries when he is in need.”
Samuel reached out and took hold of her arm, pulling her to a stop. “I beg you not to.”
“It is a little thing—”
Holding up a staying hand, Samuel tried to gather his thoughts. Though he did not comprehend why, the tea caddy was dear to her, and giving it up was no small sacrifice for his wife. However, using that as an argument would not convince her to change course.
“Though I do not know what the balance is between giving and seeing to one’s own comforts, I do know that we must exercise caution,” he said, feeling his way to the answer. “Every time I visit people in need, I want to hand them every last coin in my pocket, but the solution to their troubles is usually far more complicated than tossing money at them. Frankly, handing them a purse can make matters worse.”
Straightening, Mrs. Godwin’s brows rose. “How so? What harm can it do?”
“In our rush to uplift and aid, we can leave them dependent on our charity.” Tucking his hands behind him, Samuel’s eyes drifted down the road. “I made that mistake when I was serving as the curate in my previous parish. When hardships come from poor decisions, handing them funds only encourages them to continue the behavior. Each time we give, we mire them deeper and deeper in their mistakes.”
Samuel would not allow himself to drift into memories that were best left undisturbed at present. He’d been young and inexperienced, and he would not continue to flog himself for those mistakes.
“In truth,” he continued, “I find that giving material aid, whether money, food, or clothing, is only beneficial for those laid low by the unforeseen misfortunes of life. And even then, it is better to do what you can to help them pull themselves free than do it on their behalf.”
As she looked no more convinced than before, Samuel continued, “If your brother were offered funds, he would use them wisely. He is determined to build himself a new life one way or another, and any assistance would simply help him do so faster.”
Mrs. Godwin nodded at that assessment.
“And what if the money were given to your father?” asked Samuel, with raised brows, fully knowing what the answer would be. “His poor choices landed him in that mess to begin with. Do you think he would suddenly change and do better?”
Shoulders dropping, Mrs. Godwin shook her head.
“During my curacy,” he added, “I chose to live as meanly as possible, giving away as much as I could—until I realized how often the same people who fret about feeding their children spent every evening drinking away their income at the public house. And I saw far too many grow accustomed to the aid and assistance the church offered, weakening them until they wereutterly dependent on others. Money is rarely an impetus for change.”
Drawing in a breath, his shoulders fell. “My income is generous now, but we are not wealthy. When I pass, you and our children will be without a home, and all you will have to live on is the money I put aside now. I hope and pray it will be decades from now, but I cannot know for certain and must do my best to prepare for that day now.”
Mrs. Godwin’s breath caught, her eyes widening as though she hadn’t considered that before, but then, few expected trouble to knock upon their door.
“I want to be generous, but being overeager will bankrupt us,” he added. “Giving from our own coffers must be done with prudence and an eye for our future as well, lest we end up as dependent as those we are trying to help. We must be wise.”
“We?” asked Mrs. Godwin, a bright note of hope in her voice. Not exuberant, not demanding, but present all the same.
The word lingered between them, bright and unguarded, and Samuel felt its weight settle in his chest.We. He had said it without ceremony, without forethought, and only now did he grasp what he had offered—and how rarely he had done so before. Decisions made on his own. Burdens assumed without consultation. He’d been so intent on carrying everything himself that he had left her standing at the threshold of their marriage, uncertain where she was permitted to step, and the eagerness in her voice made that omission plain.
A knife twisted deep into his heart. How many times had he misjudged her just as she had misjudged him?
Clearing his throat, Samuel tugged at his cuffs, “I was asked to organize a bazaar or concert to raise funds for the coming winter. Would you help me?”
Mrs. Godwin stared at him for a long moment, and Samuel shifted in place.
“I understand if that is an imposition or if you do not wish to,” he hurried to add. “I simply thought you might enjoy the opportunity.” Samuel cleared his throat again. “And I do not believe I have told you how grateful I am, have I? For this afternoon. And everything else. You have done so much in a small amount of time, and I am proud of you.”
Samuel frowned to himself. “I do not mean to sound condescending. I am not your father giving you a pat on the head.”
“It would be condescending if you were to say that in your usual tone of voice,” she said with a half-smile. Then mimicking it, she added, “Mr. Godwin.”
Though it didn’t quite catch the simpering quality, she did a fair job, and Samuel held onto a blank expression and asked in all his Mr. Godwin glory, “What say you, Mrs. Godwin?”
Canting her head to the side, she studied him as though searching for deeper meaning. Or perhaps the lady still struggled to see the humor slathered on his words.
